


Ten Drabbles About Owen Harper

by cutthechitchatandbegone



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:37:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutthechitchatandbegone/pseuds/cutthechitchatandbegone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten drabbles about Owen Harper, how he dealt with the aftermath of Katie's loss, and how he regained himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Drabbles About Owen Harper

1.  
The two lay in bed, snuggled in their each other's embrace. “Owen,” Katie whispered, cupping her hand on Owen's cheek, “I'm pregnant.”  
There was a long moment of silence. Owen stared into Katie's dark eyes, his own showing a mix of excitement and fear.  
“Owen, say something. You're scaring me.”  
Mouth agape, he reached out, touching Katie's stomach. “Are you, really?”  
Katie giggled, putting her hand over Owen's. “Yes, I am.”  
He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. “This isn't quite how I'd planned it. But,” As he pulled away, he asked, “Katie Russell, will you be my wife?”

2.

Owen's hand was wrapped tightly around Katie's as they stared at the ultrasound on the screen. “God.”  
“Do you want to know the sex?”  
Questioning glances were exchanged between the two. “I don't want to know,” Owen said, rubbing his fiance's shoulder.  
“Owen, what if I-” She stopped herself, “I want to know.” Katie said, squeezing Owen's hand. “If we... don't make it, I want you to be able to grieve.”  
“Don't say that.” Owen whispered, his breath hitching. Not breaking Katie's gaze, he softly said, “We want to know.”  
There was silence for a moment.  
Suddenly, “It's a girl.”

3.

“What about Katherine?” Owen smirked, rubbing Katie's round belly.  
Katie rolled her eyes, but gave Owen a peck on the cheek. “Owen Michael Harper, I do not want our daughter named any variation of my own name. Do you understand me?” Her voice was stern, but not angry.  
“Why not? Don't you want a little Kate tottering around the house?”  
She flipped to the next page in her baby naming book. “I just don't, all right?”  
Owen pulled back, bewildered, “You are... happy... we're...”  
“Of course!” She gasped, patting Owen's cheek. “Of course.”  
“Then what's wrong?”  
“I'm dying, Owen.”

4.

It was so cold. Katie looked around and saw him holding her hand. His hands are so soft. She loves the way those hands feel when they rub her back, or touch her protruding belly, whispering words of love to their daughter.  
What's his name?  
The bump in her stomach kicked. It was two months to the day that they'd found out they were having a girl.  
God, what is his name? He held her hand as the surgeons prepared. She knows she loves him, but she has no clue what his name is.  
“You can't let the baby die.” 

5.

“Shut up!” Owen screamed, throwing a frilly toy toward the baby's cradle. “Shut up! Just fucking stop!”  
For hours, the baby wailed. Shrill sounds. Such pained noises from such a small person. Owen knew the baby was in pain. He didn't care – he was hurting worse.  
Born at twenty three weeks. The term born, of course, being used loosely. They ripped open Katie's stomach. She died a few hours later. The tumor in her brain caused an aneurysm.  
Now it was a cycle of drinking, screaming – yes, Ms. Clarke, the baby's fine – and back to drinking.

6.

“Doctor Harper,” The knock came.  
Owen scrambled. Mind jumbled.  
No. Not today.  
Grab the bathrobe, grab the baby, grab the bottle. Get the door. Oh, shit, grab the blanket. “Hush. Quiet.” He growled to it.  
He hated the baby. But he couldn't lose it.  
The knock came again. Harder, angrier. “Doctor Harper, open the door.”  
“I'm coming, Ms. Clarke!” He called, kicking empty bottles under the couch.  
The baby screamed in his ear. An awful sound.  
He opened the door, baby in hand. The ugly, fat social worker didn't bother asking to be invited in. Not today. Not ever.

7.

Six months, now. The baby is six months old. “Hey.” Owen whispered, lifting the baby out of the crib. It's quiet today – a nice change of pace. He puts the baby down in the playpen and hands it a bottle. Why isn't Katie here? Katie should nurse the baby. Nursing is best.  
But he really doesn't care too much. As long as the baby is quiet and he can have a beer. Numb the pain. It's okay.  
No, it's not okay. He needs Katie. Why isn't Katie here?  
The baby's crying again. He picks it up, crying himself. “Sara.”

8.

Sara. He'd always hated that name. Shot it down every damn time Katie suggested it. She was so fucking insistent on Sara. “Owen, it's perfect. Sara.” Katie begged.  
Katie never even announced it aloud. She just wrote it on paper. Sara Serpa Harper.  
Sara Serpa Harper. What a stupid name. But still, the curiosity overwhelmed him. He turned on the computer, the baby on his knee.

S-a-r-a  
Meaning: Princess  
S-e-r-p-a  
Meaning: Fragment

He looked down at the giggling little girl on his knee. So frail. Sara Serpa Harper.  
His daughter. His legacy. Katie's legacy.  
He wouldn't let his girls down.

9.

Three twenty-seven in the morning. Sara's screaming. Owen sighs. He wants a smoke, but he quit two months ago. For Sara. Everything is for Sara. He drags himself out of bed and picks up the baby. “Shhh, Sara, no, don't cry.”  
Three fifty-two. Sara's still screaming. Owen grabs a bottle and feeds her. Fuck it. He sits on the bed with Sara resting against his chest.  
He's rubbing soft circles on her back.  
Daddy's here, Sara.  
The crying stops. He smiles and sets her in the crib.  
The baby grabs the bars of the crib, wide-eyed. “Da-da.”  
Owen stares. “Princess.”

10.

It's been a year. One year since Katie died.  
Owen stares down at Sara. She looks up at him. She's happy. “Da-da!”  
Get dressed. Dress Sara. Frilly pink dress or blue silk dress? Pink. Katie loved pink.  
Pink it is.  
He puts a bow in her hair. “We're going to see mum.”  
“Mama!”  
Owen kisses Sara's tiny head. “Yeah.” They walk to the graveyard, kneel beside Katie's grave. “Mama.” Owen says, pointing to the tombstone.  
A man in a greatcoat reaches out, stroking Sara's cheek. “Happy birthday, little Princess.”  
Owen's spews venom. “If you touch my daughter, I'll kill you.”


End file.
